Faywyn, 3rd Moon, 16th Day, 1624 Symfora Telos

  Frozen in the grip of indecision, Iris lingered before the heavy oak door, her slender arm outstretched, fingers just brushing the iron handle. She had no desire to face him—not now, not after the venomous barbs of his words nor the shadow of ruin he had nearly cast over her and her mother. Yet here she stood, summoned by duty, compelled to bow her pride and issue an apology she did not believe he deserved. The injustice of it gnawed at her, hot and sour, a bitter thing she could neither spit out nor swallow.

  Foolish, she thought. How foolish she was to ever believe she could match wits with such a man. There was no fairness in his game, no honour in his tongue, only sharpness—cruel and cutting. And now, humbled and brought low, she was tasked with smoothing the waters, as if the blame were hers to bear.

  Her mother’s words echoed in her mind: Swallow your pride, Iris. That’s the kind of forbearance you must learn if you wish to rule one day. She had sighed at the time, and she sighed again now, quietly, bitterly, before squaring her shoulders. Composure reclaimed, she raised her fist and knocked—softly, at first, then harder.

  From within came a voice, low and unhurried, smooth as a bard’s lute. “Enter.”

  She pushed the door open, each creak of the hinges grating against her nerves. Levi awaited her, seated behind a sturdy desk cluttered with parchment, scrolls, and a solitary candle burning low. He did not look up as she entered, his pen scratching lazily across the page. The light cast deep shadows across his sharp features, making him seem more statue than man.

  Iris stepped inside, cheeks flushed with the effort of holding back her fury. Her mouth opened once, twice, before she forced herself to speak. “My Lord,” she began, her voice taut with suppressed anger. “I—”

  “Take a seat,” he said, not bothering to glance her way, his hand gesturing vaguely toward a chair before him.

  For a moment, she stood motionless, blinking at his audacity. An order. He dared to command her as though she were some lowborn servant. The nerve of the man!

  But pride, that treacherous thing, was no ally today. With a deep breath, Iris obeyed, lowering herself into the seat with stiff, deliberate grace. Her lips pressed tightly together, sealing the retort that burned on her tongue. Her gaze flicked over the room—over the scrolls and tomes, the ink-stained quill, and the faintly glimmering blade sheathed at Levi’s side—before finally settling on him.

  “I have come,” she forced out at last, each word tasting like ash, “to offer my apologies. I allowed my emotions to… to overcome me. It was unseemly. It shall not happen again.”

  Levi paused his writing, set down his pen, and leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he simply regarded her, the faintest trace of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. Then, with a shrug, he said, “Very well. You are forgiven.”

  Iris blinked, confusion breaking through her carefully composed mask. “That’s all?” she blurted out. “No reprimand? No scorn?”

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  “Do you wish for scorn, Princess?” he asked, finally meeting her gaze, his tone dry, his words mocking. “Shall I berate you, then, if that is what you desire?”

  Her cheeks burned. “Of course not,” she snapped, rising swiftly to her feet. “If we are finished—”

  “Sit,” Levi interrupted, his voice soft but firm. “We are not.”

  Her anger flared anew, but she swallowed it once more, lowering herself back into the chair. She glared at him, but Levi was unmoved, as solid and cold as the ironwood desk between them.

  “I am beginning to understand you,” he said, his tone almost contemplative, his fingers idly tracing the edge of a thick, leather-bound tome.

  “Truly?” Iris replied, her voice dripping with scorn.

  “Aye,” he said simply, lifting his gaze to hers. “You are na?ve.”

  Her mouth opened, but he silenced her with a raised hand. “Do not interrupt,” he said, pausing for a moment to regather his thoughts. “You scorn my methods and those who ousted thy father. Instead of embracing it as a lesson, you despise my means. So fervent is your hate that you refuse to ponder how you might wield what you’ve learnt to achieve your desires”

  She bristled, her fists clenching in her lap. “You speak of dishonor as though it were virtue,” she shot back. “You—”

  “I speak of reality,” Levi interrupted again, his tone cutting. “You wish to rule, do you not? To reclaim your father’s throne, to protect your people? Then tell me, Princess, what good is your righteousness if it cannot win you allies or a war? What use is your honor if it cannot feed an army?”

  Iris stared at him, her indignation faltering. “My father was a good man,” she said, her voice trembling. “A just king—”

  “And that,” Levi said, his voice low and sharp as a dagger, “is why he was overthrown.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, scandalized. “You dare—”

  “I dare because it is the truth. It matters little how great or noble you are, no man rules alone. A king cannot construct forts unaided, cannot enforce laws single-handedly, cannot defend the realm, nor himself, unassisted. The potency of a king lies not in his actions, but in his ability to inspire others to act on his behalf. A king requires an army, and someone to lead it. Riches and someone to gather them. Justice and someone to uphold it. The individuals essential to bring about necessary deeds are the king's foundations of power. All the aspirations a king harbours are nought but fleeting thoughts if these men heed not his commands. In court, where strength dictates right, these so-called foundations of power are scarce, perchance only a handful of Sers, Lords and Ladies. Persuade them to your cause, and dominion shall be yours forevermore, yet, displease them, and they shall depose you. This your father forgot. He displeased them in his attempt to make you heir, and hence, he was swiftly supplanted."

  The earl frowned at her. “Power, Princess, is a fragile thing. To hold it, one must understand it. To understand it, one must be willing to embrace its truths, no matter how bitter. A ruler’s duty is not to be benevolent, righteous or honourable. The throne sits upon an unstable house of cards. Balancing that is paramount. Thus, a ruler’s duty is to keep the court loyal and keep raising the treasure that sustains them. This is the self-sustaining core of power. All outside is secondary.”

  He leaned forward then, his gaze pinning her in place. “Ask yourself, Iris—do you desire to rule? Truly? Or would you rather cling to your delusions, and illusions of honour, watching your kingdom crumble around you?”

  For a long moment, Iris said nothing. Her hands trembled, her pride warring with the sharp edge of his words. Finally, she stood, her expression a mask of cold defiance. “You are wrong about me, Levi.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But if I am right, you will return. And when you do, it will cost you. Dearly. My patience only ever goes so far.”

  Dismissed, she turned and left, her heart heavy with a storm she could not yet name. Behind her, Levi stared at her departing figure, his gaze inscrutable.